It was a quiet, sultry night at Amoy Quee Camp, the oppressive humidity thick in the air, broken only by the occasional rustling of leaves and the distant hum of nocturnal insects. 3SG Keith, a dedicated and reliable soldier, was the Company Orderly Sergeant on duty. Despite being familiar with the ghost stories that circulated among his platoon, he dismissed them as mere fabrications—tales concocted to pass the time and entertain the more superstitious among them.

Keith's responsibilities were clear-cut: maintain the night watch, ensure the camp's security, and oversee the armoury—a duty he took very seriously. As the COS, he was the only one entrusted with the keys to the armoury, a heavily secured area storing weapons and ammunition.

The night progressed uneventfully until the clock struck three in the morning. As Keith made his rounds, a sound pierced the stillness, sending a chill down his spine—the unmistakable creak of the armoury gate opening. His heart raced as he froze, listening intently. The sound was clear and distinct, echoing through the otherwise silent camp.

Keith's mind raced. The gate could not possibly open without the keys, and he had them securely fastened to his belt. Summoning his courage, he decided to investigate. Grabbing his flashlight, he made his way towards the armoury, each step echoing ominously in the quiet night.

As he approached the armoury, he saw the gate was ajar, swaying gently in the breeze. Keith's flashlight beam cut through the darkness, illuminating the scene. There was no sign of forced entry, no indication that anyone had tampered with the lock. He pushed the gate open fully and stepped inside, his senses on high alert.

The interior of the armoury was as it should be, with rows of neatly stored M16s and ammunition. Nothing seemed out of place, yet Keith couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. He conducted a thorough check, ensuring everything was secure and all the weapons were accounted for before locking the gate again.

Perplexed and unsettled, Keith returned to his post, the incident gnawing at him. He immediately reported to the duty officer, who ordered a turn-out of the guards and conducted an investigation. However, they found no evidence of tampering or intruders. The armoury gate was functioning perfectly, and the keys had remained with Keith throughout the night. The incident was officially documented, but unofficially, it became yet another chapter in the haunting lore of Amoy Quee Camp.

Some believe that the spirits of soldiers from the past still linger, guarding the camp or perhaps reliving their last moments. The mystery of the armoury gate remains one of the most compelling and chilling tales, a testament to the enduring enigma of Amoy Quee Camp.